Redeemer
by WhitethornWolf
Summary: Garrus reflects on Commander Shepard while making his last stand against Omega's mercenary force. One-shot.


_"Never explain—your friends do not need it and your enemies will not believe you anyway."_

Elbert Hubbard

* * *

><p><em>Archangel.<em>

It wasn't the first time Garrus had pondered the irony of the name he had been given. The mercenaries he hunted on a daily basis would attest that he was no angel, nor was he anything resembling a saint. More like a pariah these days, he often thought, and would stave off the bitterness that inevitably followed.

The people of Omega had a completely different idea. Saviour, they called him.

He liked that even less. If he couldn't save the one friend he had in the galaxy, then he wasn't a saviour. Not to anyone.

This was the last stand for him. He felt it as something unnameable deep in his chest; the knowledge that he had come to the end of the line, that there was no way out. Slowly but surely, the mercenaries had worn away at his defenses. Many of them had fallen to his sniper rifle, but his munitions were running out. Soon they would break in and overwhelm him. He was just one man now-and when the end came, he would die alone.

Like Shepard had died alone, drowning in the cold vacuum of space.

Garrus thought about Shepard often, even after the time that had passed since the attack on the Normandy. Days that turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months; months into years. Two years, now-and not a day had passed in which the memory of her left his mind. She had been his commander, his inspiration…his friend. Losing her had left a small but noticeable void that his work had not filled.

The sound of gunfire jolted Garrus out of his thoughts. He eased himself up, flexing cramped muscles, and risked a peek from the column he was stationed behind.

Mercenaries, again.

_Will__ they__ ever__ stop?_ He thought to himself, peering down the scope of his rifle. He fired, and the bullet hit home. The mercenary fell, screaming. But there were more with him, and they turned their assault rifles on the turian, spraying the stairs and balcony with bullets.

Garrus ducked as a pellet went whizzing over his head and began to reload his sniper rifle, grimacing as he counted his low stores. If he couldn't find thermal clips soon, he would be in serious...what would Shepard say? _In __deep __shit._ He grinned despite himself.

"_They're with Archangel!"_

There was the sound of more gunfire and voices raised. Curious, he risked a peek.

Three more mercs had appeared-human mercs-and they were shooting at the Blue Suns troops ahead. One was a woman with dark hair, wearing a white and black uniform. The other, a dark-skinned man with white and black armour. The design marked on their uniforms and the colour triggered a long-forgotten memory…something to do with a human organization. He put it out of his mind for now; there were more pressing concerns at hand.

The third human was obviously the leader of their little squad; the way they – she, by the looks of the figure beneath that armour – jogged ahead, her pistol held confidently in front of her. Something about the way she moved looked familiar to him. She reminded him of Shepard…but that was impossible, wasn't it? Shepard was long dead. This woman might resemble her – and resemble she did, to the build and the short red hair – but she would never _be_ her.

Garrus loaded his rifle and fired. The bullet whistled hit the air just above the woman's shoulder, and her kinetic shields flashed as they absorbed the blow. Her head snapped around. Through the scope, their eyes locked.

His hand trembled on the weapon.

_It couldn't be…_

At a signal from the woman, the other humans moved ahead. They disappeared out of sight and left Garrus staring at the spot where the brown eyes had pierced him. So like Shepard's, even the gaze…intense and focused.

It wasn't possible. Not after all this time. A Spectre may be an elite operative, but even someone like Shepard couldn't just _vanish_ for two years.

A bullet ricocheted off Garrus's armour, and he flinched.

"Pull it together, Vakarian," he muttered, and aimed his rifle at the unlucky merc who had taken a shot at him. The human woman and her squad-mates would reach the balcony soon, and then he would get the answers he sought. For he knew not all humans looked the same, but he had thought it wasn't possible for another to have the gaze that could stare down an angry krogan…except for Shepard.

There was a burst of gunfire outside Garrus's door, and he flinched. _Focus,__focus__…_

The door slid open with a barely audible hiss, and he allowed himself a glance. The mercs downstairs were all dead. The only ones remaining were the humans standing before him with their weapons raised. He didn't move.

"Archangel?" the woman said.

Garrus turned towards the sound of the voice and felt something akin to joy filling his throat.

His mind raced with a million different theories, a hundred emotions; nameless questions that he wanted answered and yet, didn't want to know. _Why_ was one. Why she had deceived him; all of them, for two long years. How she had survived…he and the others had seen the _Normandy_ blown out of space after the attack. How anyone could have lived through that was a wonder.

Garrus gestured to them to wait, looked down the scope of his rifle and aimed carefully. The merc's head loomed in his sights. His bullet cracked the air and hit point-blank, dropping the man.

With the last of the mercs down, he lowered his sniper rifle and removed his helmet with one hand, sitting down. A thousand things to say lingered on the tip of his tongue.

"Alexis. I thought you were dead."


End file.
